A Wooden Box of Mysteries

It’s the day I have to move to the army's campsite. I grab my bag and swing them on my shoulder, it weighs a ton it feels like my shoulder’s gonna break. Sophie was peeking through my room door, as I was about to stand up she ran to the living room curled up into a ball making loud thud and sobbing noises. Outside of the house, I hug my mom as tight as I could, I don’t want to move any single inch of my bone. I want to stay like this forever. I felt a drop of water behind my shoulder and I know that it was her tears. I don’t want to leave them but I have to. It was time to let go but she didn’t want to, I grab her arm and slightly push them back.

I remember the first day I walked into my kindergarten class, I clenched my mother’s hand with all my might to prevent her from letting go. The kids around me, whom I supposed were my classmates, had long let go of their mother’s had and were playing together, and even as a five year old, at that point I felt like an outsider. I pleaded my mom to not leave but my attempts failed as I found myself alone yet surrounded by complete strangers. As I stood in the center of the room while pushing back my tears and eyeing my mother make her way out the door, I heard the teacher call my name. I timidly walked towards the spot on the yellow carpet she was signaling at for me to sit on. I heard Mrs. Ross’s soothing voice but no matter how much I concentrated

Senior year is time for high school students to celebrate their accomplishments and move on to their new life - an independent life from parents. However, you should respect and appreciate these last moments of love, care and support from your parents because many unfortunate children such as Emily in “I Stand Here Ironing” story written by Tillie Olsen have not received all the care from their parents since their youth age. Olsen expresses successfully in this monologue story the distance between a mother and her daughter along with the mother’s guilty feeling of not being able to fix their relationship.

I walked silently, my converse crunching on the wet sidewalk. I zipped up my jacket and took a sip of my coffee. I slowly walked towards my school when someone's shoulder slammed in to me. My coffee flew out of my hands, the lid came of as it hit the ground, spilling all over the sidewalk. I stumbled as I tried to regain my balance. I hate this small town I thought to myself. When I returned home I arrived to both of my parents sitting at the table. I looked at them with a confused look, “Ava why don't you take a seat,” Father said “we have something to tell you.” I took a seat not saying a word just giving them a confused look. “Ava honey your father got a promotion,” Mother stated “and we are going to be moving to California!” Fireworks were going off in my head thinking of all of the new things I would get to experience.

All I wanted was moments with my mom when I was nine; I did not get it. What about age ten, eleven, and twelve? My whole childhood was snatched out from under me, and I had to grow up way to fast. Don’t worry, I did not blame you. I blamed myself until I was fifteen. It was my fault my mother tried to drown my sisters and me. I saw signs and clues. I could tell she was not acting herself, but I said nothing. I didn’t go and ask another grownup for help. I put my sisters’ lives in danger, because I didn’t protect them.

I hold the paper in my hands. It’s crumpling under my grip, but in it I get to live in the footsteps of others. My old dress is wrinkled and torn much like the paper, but I can’t spare the money on a new one. As much as I try to focus on the crinkled piece of paper with scrawly handwriting, I can’t. I just can’t. Tears run down my face and I wipe them away. It has been awhile since I have cried, so long in fact that I was afraid that there was something wrong with me. I push myself up from the old oak I sit at the base of. There’s no use in dwelling in what I can’t change. I fold the paper back in my dress pocket and walk into the field. I used to think there was beauty in the way that the grass grows in the street; standing low next to the

Through the angle in the screen door I saw my father who had been walking into his room wheel around on one of his rubber-booted heels and look at her with his blue eyes flashing like clearest ice beneath the snow that was his hair. His usually ruddy face was drawn and grey, reflecting the exhaustion of a man of sixty-five who had been working in those rubber boots for eleven hours on an August day, and for a fleeting moment I wondered what I would do if he killed my mother while I stood there in the porch with those three foolish mackerel in my hand. Then he turned and went into his room and the radio blared forth the next day’s weather forecast and I retreated under the noise and returned again,

I didn’t know what I would do without Mother; she was my rock, the only thing that was constant in my life. She was my generous advisor, unmoving and strong. I pushed these thoughts away from my head; that was in the past, I couldn’t change it, and it could never be undone. Finally reaching my destination, I sprinted up the front steps, grabbed the brass knocker, and slammed it onto the giant wooden door. The door creaked open, and an annoyed voice spoke through the crack. “Adi, I’m busy right now, please come later.” The door was starting to close before I spoke, “Elle,” I said, my voice cracking, “please, Mother has died, and this act has been passed, and Father doesn’t know what to do, and I don’t know what to do.” The door flung open, and Elle started running in the direction of our house. I ran after her, and when we reached the house, Elle pushed the door open, and yelled, “Father? Father? I’m here!” When she finally found my father, sitting at the table, head in his hands, she embraced him from behind. “I’m here,” she whispered. “Girls, sit down, we have matters to discuss.” He

As she rubbed her eyes in exhaustion she remembered the adventures of the day before. When she got home she passed out from the excitement and strain on her heart. She reached down to check her leg and sighed with relief to find a replacement was already attached. She looked over at her nightstand and noticed her spare glass waiting for her to put them on. As she got out of bed all she could think about was how rude she was to Sam. She walked into the kitchen to see her mother preparing breakfast. She looked around and did not see Sam. She didn’t know why she expected to see her but she was upset that he was not here. Her mom turned a saw her disappointment and said “He seem in quite a rush to leave he left his job to help you.” She was startled by her answer and rushed out the door ignoring the cries from her mother. She hurried Sam’s farm almost throwing up because of the strain on her heart. When she reached the farm she found an old man working the fields. She rushed over and asked, “Where is Sam?” The old man replied, “I fired him because...” She didn’t let him finish She rushed to the road the taste of blood in her mouth from running. She saw a man walking on the road looking forlorn. She called out, “Sam!” The man stopped and turned it was Sam he answered her, “Joy?” She ran into his arms and started to cry. Sam confused hugged her back. She thought to herself about how a horrible incident led to her

As I awoke on the average school day ready to take on the world. I do my usual morning routine, but I feel as if something isn't right. As I head downstairs I see my mother sitting on the couch crying and my father comforting her. I ask my father “What’s wrong with mom?” and I get confronted

I could not see her for she was wrapped in an old green rag. My heart pounded as I looked at her, tears leaving my eyes quicker than warmth in winter. I quickly went inside and bounded up the stairs to my room. I was shocked to see my bed completely bare, all essence of her gone, light shining through the windows of the bright, sunny day as if my world hadn’t just turned completely upside down. I don’t know how long I sat on the edge of my bed with a blank mind, unmoving. Finally when the skies were a mix of purple and orange, I heard a knock at my door. I honestly don’t remember what my parents said, because I had lost all energy and willingness to

I buried my head into my mother’s shirt. My warm tears dampened her shirt, but I could tell she had no intention of pushing me away. There were other voices around me, but her’s was the only one that I cared to focus on. “You’re a strong and brilliant little boy,” she said to me, “you shouldn’t let this move break you down like this.” I knew she was right, but I was just so furiously confused that I didn’t want to acknowledge it. “How could you know?” I howled, “you’re not the one who’s spending hours alone every day because you’re too terrified to ask anyone if they want to play a game or hang out or even have a conversation!” My sobbing intensified. “No,” she quietly said to me, “but you’re not the only one who left Costa Rica to come here.”

Each disruption I was unable to ignore, resulting in my leapfrogging from spot to spot. Whether it was a party with hamburgers, people doing Slackline, or people cuddling and kissing, I would leave. Fed up with the consistent commotion around me, I left, Searching for a sense of serenity, I sprinted back to my house, eager to escape the turmoil infecting my leisure hour. As I opened the familiar wooden door, I heard a door slam and expletives flowing out of my brothers mouth. I thought that I had finally found the calmness I had been seeking. I was wrong. I went back outside, sat on the worn out and sun bleached bench on my patio and

“It is a shame that her father left her...this happened because her mother failed her job as a wife...she is so young...what was her father thinking?”, my relatives whispered as they sipped their tea. My cousin’s face turned pale like the white blanket of snow falling outside the lodge at the camp in Lake Tahoe. Her expression held so many emotions as if it was a canvas of a painting to be gazed upon. I could see that she felt frustrated and tired of these rude remarks, and all I did was just stand there and caressed the back side of her hands, so I could comfort her. Suddenly, it felt like the air had thickened so much that even a hammer could not slash it into tiny bits. My cousin had not yet known why her father left the house yesterday.

Every night, as I sat on the table with my younger brothers assisting them with their homework, I hear a familiar sound at the door. As she walks her heels click, and I can hear her searching her bag for her keys, the next thing I know the keys are in the lock and as it turns me and my younger brothers’ jump. We run to the door and indeed we scream in unison “Mommy’s home”, one by one she gives us a hug and a kiss. My mother asks us how our day was, and if we finished our homework, she then looks to me and said “did you cook and assist your younger ones with their homework”; I replied “yes mom”. As I warm the food, I take my mother’s purse, jacket, and shoes put them away and prepare the table for her to eat dinner. As I glance at the